


I Don’t Wanna Be...Responsible For This

by Dis_connect



Category: A Heist With Markiplier, Youtube egos, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: AHWM verse, Gen, a bit of silly fun, and daddy issues to boot, but the boy has some...issues with authority, ego introductions, idk exactly how to write him just yet, meet and greet, no beta we die like writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21981319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dis_connect/pseuds/Dis_connect
Summary: He who sparked the idea has to deal with it and it’s gonna be a rough day for Dark.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	I Don’t Wanna Be...Responsible For This

Things were unusually quiet when Actor reappeared.

A gap in the music, a lull in conversation. That’s probably what enabled them to hear the dull thud of him dropping into place, though the pall of anger that settled over the estate would have been clue enough. A rage unending, the feeling was blessedly brief and easy enough to shrug off once you knew its origin. Dark cracked his neck and went back to the game, contemplating his hand and the card-river in the middle of the table. He’d managed to oust Ed but Yan was slowly cleaning them all out. After a careful consideration of the table Dark was fully prepared to call Wilford on his bullshit. 

Light flared and a body smashed into the table, limbs flailing and...was that a knife?

Chairs squealed as Egos shoved back from the sudden arrival. Plastic poker chips and cards scattered and Yan growled when their pile of winnings was spread across the floor. The new arrival stopped wheeling about in alarm and rolled onto his striped knees, brandishing a shiv and glaring. The Egos groaned in exasperation.

Another one with Mark’s face.

Wilford scoffed and threw in his cards, waving his hands. “Nope, nope, nope! Done with this bullshit!”

It was the catalyst to a cacophony of bitching and moaning. Egos began pointing fingers and accusing one another of causing the mess and amid it Dark stood silent, watching the newest Ego look around with growing alarm. He was panicking, that much was clear. For new residents of the Void that wasn’t uncommon. They frequently needed several days to come to terms with the nature of their existence. 

Newbie launched from the table and stabbed Wilford in the chest.

Silence dropped.

Wilford’s face sagged into utter annoyance. He looked from the shiv to the new guy and sighed before decking the new ego, knocking him out cold in one punch. He pulled the shiv out and pointed it at Dark. “This is  **your** fault, you surly sack. You brought up prison. You deal with it!”

Dark made a face. “It’s hardly my fault if a passing thought caught Mark’s atten--”

“Deal. With. It.” Wil threw the shiv and it plunged into the boards just shy of Dark’s shoe. 

Wilford departed, having said the final word on the matter. Other egos filtered out, some wearing faces of consolation but most were annoyed and unsympathetic. Dark pulled the shiv from the boards and approached his charge.

xxxx

It was several hours later when his charge jerked back into the waking world. Dark watched him hop out of bed and look around. For every Ego there was a room, a home. The estate pulled from the essense of each creation to make their abodes and this one was certainly...different. Dark indulged in kicking up his feet onto the large oak desk and leaning back in the accompanying chair while he watched the young ego poke around. Why the heavy desk of authority sat in a corner to watch over the iron-barred cell that was clearly where his charge was most comfortable, Dark could only imagine. 

And if asked, preferred not to.

“Is it to your liking?”

The echoing rumble of Dark’s voice startled the newcomer. He swung the shiv towards the voice, relaxing when he spied Dark through the bars. With a roll of his shoulders and a tug at his t-shirt, he stood upright and looked around, affecting nonchalance. “It’s, ah….s’aight. You, uh...youse got somethin’ to do with...this?”

“In a manner of speaking.” 

“Huh. Okay. Uh...so, uh...where is dis place?”

Dark brought his feet down and sat upright. “That’s...complicated. Let’s start simple. What do you call yourself?”

“Yancy.”

Dark stood and came around the desk to approach the bars. “Darkiplier. A pleasure, I’m sure. Come along.”

Yancy glanced between Dark and the distant door. Interestingly, he didn’t even consider the door of the cell. “I, uh...I can’t.”

“It’s a short tour that will answer most of your questions.”

He folded his arms, anxiously grabbing his upper arms. “No, no I-I-I can’t. I, uh...I done some bad stuff. Like, real bad.” He opened his arms to scrub at his hair. “I don’ really, uh, work right...out dere. Outside.”

A frown tugged at Dark’s lips. He wasn’t used to being denied, especially by young egos. But he took his cues from the room and bade his time, squaring his shoulders and speaking with the hardest tone he could muster. “You really have no idea. This is a den of murderers, liars, and fast-talkers. There are so many two-faced assholes most of them don’t need mirrors to see their own reflections. Get. Out here.”

Yancy startled. He second-glanced Dark before hurriedly pushing the cell door open and sliding it shut behind himself. He fidgeted, immediately uncomfortable outside of the cell. “So...where’s we goin?”

“Follow.”

Before they even left the room, Dark began explaining things such as Yancy’s room and how he was to stay out of others unless invited. Residential spaces were upstairs, common spaces were down. The basement was Host’s domain. A whole world existed outside of the estate. It was Yancy’s prerogative if he wanted to explore it though based on his nervous swallow, he’d be snug as a bug in the house. 

Bing gave him a warm, if awkward, welcome. Yancy’s vernacular was at once outdated and yet times had swung around just enough that some of his terms lined up with Bing’s constant stream of internet-speak. All in all, it went well and Bing went away satisfied, hurried along by Dark’s impatient glare. Yancy jabbed a thumb at the retreating ego with a cocked brow. “Dat one’a dos murderin’ types youse mentioned?”

Dark scoffed. “No.”

Yancy proceeded to ask that after every ego. 

Google? Not yet, though not for lack of trying.

Eric? The kid could hardly make eye contact.

Ed? No but he was always just a hair away from  _ being _ murdered.

Jims? Too soft, too easily distracted.

Yandere? Dark nodded. “Just stay off the topic of their senpai and you’ll be square.”

“Dat some kinda fruit pie?”

Dark almost cracked a smile.

Host approached them from behind and set a hand on Yancy’s shoulder. “Host has sensed a new presence in the house all day. Host emerges from his studio to greet them.”

Yancy whipped around and yelped in alarm at the sight of Host’s bloody, wrapped eye sockets. “Jesus fuck! Man, did youse talk about the pies?!”

Dark made a strange choking noise and turned away from them, hand pressed to his mouth. Host frowned. “The joke is lost on Host and he wishes Darkiplier would let him in on it so he does not feel mocked.”

The house groaned ominously as Host’s voice deepened, rumbling with power enhanced by the sense that he was being made fun of. Yancy looked around in fright. Dark coughed a few times before straightening up and turning around, looking unusually flush as he straightened his tie. He stretched his jaw and cleared his throat. “Yancy, this is Host. Host, Yancy. Host is...unique among us. Yandere did not wound him. Host, I was warning Yancy about the dangers of getting on the topic of Yan’s senpai just before you appeared.”

Host’s expression cleared in realization and a rare smile stretched his lips. “Ah, Host sees where the confusion would cause hilarity. Yancy stares between them in confusion as Darkiplier remains tickled about the misunderstanding. Host leaves it to Darkiplier to explain the confusion as there is more work still waiting to be done. He wishes them farewell and another welcome to Yancy.”

“Uh, yeah...good to see youse too.”

“Let’s keep moving. We could spend all day talking about Host and his...eccentricities.”

“And is he…?”

“Oh yes. How many, we have no way of proving but Host isn’t afraid of spicing his stories with death. And he  **is** the cause of death no matter how he might protest it’s  _ the characters _ or  _ the environment  _ doing the killing.” His voice dripped derision.

Somehow this seemed to be of comfort to Yancy rather than warding him off from anyone. He stood a little straighter, body language more open.

They moved on and Dark answered Yancy’s questions as simply as possible, knowing full well they had ages to worry about the finer details of things. For each familiar face met, Yancy relaxed just a touch more, spoke a little more freely. He even dared to try and slide a nickname past Dark but got such a poisonous look in return that he apologized mid-sentence and hugged himself nervously.

Dark’s face smoothed back into placid neutrality but his eyes still held the fresh embers of his temper. “I’ve saved two of the most important for the last. Some of our eldest and most unique members. This way.”

They turned a corner into an office and Yancy ran smack into Dark’s solid back.

“Wilford Warfstache, where the hell are your pants?!”

Yancy peeked around. A table lay in ruins, legs shattered and objects scattered about. Chaos ran in a clear trail around the room and the center of the storm was a broad man with a pink mustache, rainbow suspenders, and...yep, definitely missing pants. Just his pants. Why was his shirt tucked into his underwear? He looked a little familiar...like...oh. Oh no.

The man he’d stabbed earlier rushed forward to Dark and grabbed his lapels. “Monkeys, Dark! Goddamned monkeys! Chittering and waving bananas around like bloody Donkey Kong!”

Dark firmly detached the grip and tugged his jacket back into order. “Monkeys? Are you with us in the present, Wil?”

“Another bloody brilliant idea burst into life in my office! Some knock-off adventurer yahoo with no idea how shirt buttons function. One of the vermin that followed him through fucked off with my pants!”

There was a beat of silence. “How did the monkey...no, you know what, nevermind that. What knock-off adventurer?”

A perky jingle sounded from the table ruins and Wilford dove for it in complete disregard of the question. He looked at the phone’s screen and straightened his bowtie before answering the call. “Cathryn! Always a pleasure!” Noise exploded from the phone and Wil held it away from his face with a wince. As it calmed he brought the device closer again. “Now, now no need for threats of violence, my dear! Jim’s been keeping an eye on things, says they’ve gone off on a different loop and…” He frowned. “...I didn’t agree to do an interview!” He made a face. “Actor’s little audience is hardly a concern of mine...mmhmm...hmm...uhg, fine!”

And with that, he was gone. 

Yancy blinked. “Uh...he just...vanished? Like, not even a poof of smoke!”

Dark allowed a long-suffering sigh. “That was Wilford. You stabbed him earlier. He is without a doubt the oldest and...quirkiest of us.”

“And is he--”

“If you were to tally everyone’s kills, they still wouldn’t hold a candle to Wilford’s body count.”

“Huh. Yeah?” Why did he have the strangest urge to hug Wilford?

Dark nudged him back into the hall. “You’ll meet him again soon enough. We’ll meet one more and I’ll show you back to your room.”

They travelled through the foyer. Yancy steered well clear of the front door. At the foot of the stairs they met an ego who appeared to have just woken up with his robe, bedhead, and all. “Doctor.” Dark greeted.

“Did I miss the game? Oh? Hello.”

Yancy sniffed and shrugged. “Hey.”

Dark fought off an eyeroll. No class to be found anywhere. “Yancy, this is Dr Doctor Iplier. Doctor, this is Yancy - Mark’s newest creation.”

Sleepy eyes brightened and Doctor stepped down to the floor, hand extended. “Ah, I see. Nice to meet you, newbie. I’ll set up an appointment for a full workup and let you know when you should be by.”

With a confused frown, Yancy accepted the handshake. “Doctor-Doctor? Das youse’s name?”

Doctor took his hand back with a huff. “As though  _ Yancy  _ is any better?? And what kind of discount costume shop did those rags come out of?”

“Ey, youse watch youse’s mouth!” Yancy smoothed down his t-shirt. “Sparkles did laundry last an’ he’s not too good with the ironin’ but he does a’ight!”

“Who the fuck is  _ Sparkles _ ??”

“Enough!”

Dark’s voice boomed. His hand shot out to grab Yancy’s shirt and kept him from running off. Doctor just made a face and pressed by them. “Coffee’s calling. You have fun with  _ Yaaan-seeee _ .”

Yancy took a wild swing at Doctor’s back. He missed by a mile because Dark’s grip was unyielding. “Let me go!”

“Behave yourself.” His voice still held some echo.

When Yancy looked, Dark showed the first hints of color he’d seen - subtle twitches of a red and blue so intense they hurt his eyes. But it was the grip and the aura of command that made him relax and stop pulling. He cleared his throat, glanced between Dark and the floor, and nodded. “Okay. I’m okay.”

Dark released him. “Free advice. It’s up to you to handle your problems most of the time. I don’t recommend making enemies of your brothers. Come along.”

They didn’t have far to go after that, just up the stairs and to the main landing. Having gone down a different set of stairs before, they had missed this entirely and Yancy wondered at the why until he saw the corpse flopped into a chair. No, wait. It wasn’t a corpse. It was...a...a doll? Yancy felt gooseflesh erupt over his skin as he stepped closer, full of a morbid curiosity. 

It was life-sized and the skin was some sort of fine cloth, though the doll overall looked like it had been put through the ringer. A ragged mop of dark hair and a white grin of stitches drawn taut stood stark against pale skin. Brown-button eyes were covered by thick black thread, each eye X’d over, giving the creation an almost comical appearance. The left arm was missing and from the hole at its shoulder stuffing fell to the floor beside the ridiculously ornate chair the doll was slumped in. It was dressed in a silk robe, white cravat, and...pink...bunny slippers??

Yancy’s brow furrowed and he stepped even closer. Were those bruises on its skin? Did the eyes just...look at him? He stared intently, waiting for the tiniest movement, unaware he was still advancing on the doll. He heard a familiar song getting louder, the clank of a nightstick on cell bars...

A hand slapped over his eyes and he was dragged backwards. “What da fuck?!”

“ _ That _ ,” Dark growled, “...is Actor.”

Yancy was flung free near the top of the stairs and he clutched the banister. “The hell happened to ‘im?”

Dark tugged his already-immaculate jacket back into place. “Mark happens to him. Lately, a little project called Heist. And...Chica managed to get to him once before. Doctor was supposed to patch him up but...” He shrugged.

“...an’ it, uh, he’s...alive?”

“In a way.” A hint of a cruel smile formed on Dark’s lips. “He can see, hear, feel. But he has no true “life” of his own. Mark uses him for his own ends, takes him from the estate, dresses him up, plays with him, tosses him back here.”

Yancy slipped away from the railing, weight shifting as he looked between the egos. “He, uh...he...I heard a song. Heard the gang again.”

Dark very deliberately approached and planted himself between the heartsick Yancy and Actor. “Do not make eye contact with him.” He gave Yancy a curt once-over and his upper lip curled for a moment. “You’re not strong enough and I’m not rescuing another Iplier from being worn as a skin-sack because they were too stupid to ignore him.”

Yancy winced. The layered insult stung.

Dark drew back and spoke softly. “Am I clear?”

“Yeah, boss. I gots it.”

“Good.” A breath. “Now, you’ve met most of us. You’re free to roam as you see fit or I can show you back to your home.”

Yancy opened his mouth but a shriek interrupted whatever he intended to say. There was an ominous crunch and the heavy thud of wood on wood in a rhythmic, step-like pattern. He made an odd face. “Uh...is dat...a sea-shanty?”

Dark growled in his throat. He was going to have a little chat with good ol’ Mark very soon.


End file.
